In my mind, I was there but I wasn’t. My mind was clouded and veiled, as if I was looking at the world through a screen; unaware, without control.

But I was aware. The shambles of moving bodies that clashed against me was horrific, and each life I took added to my list for condemnation.

I had no control over my body, but it would be a lie to say the sheer power coursing through me wasn’t alluring. Inside my head, within this vessel, another soul resided, but was it really so different from my own?

Yes. It was complex.

I could feel the conscious being pulsate in my core, and move me like a puppet. My thoughts were my own, but it was slowly penetrating my rational mind. Soon, all control would be lost; a prisoner in my own body.

Soldier after soldier fell to incoherent spells; each incantation from my breath felt fiery, yet a sense of sadness was placed deep below. The birth of sadness even, a despair I could never understand leaking from the soul that had leached my resurrection.

-Michael. You are unfortunately incorporeal at the moment-

Incorporeal? I guess that made sense. I could feel something in me slipping away after each minute, and each minute was becoming harder to watch as the dozens of souls were wiped out in an instant at my… our every command.

It was no longer just me, I could feel it taking over; something dark, something ancient.

I’m rambling.

I was talking, ignoring the moment at hand. Although it was hard to stomach, I had to be awake. If there was something, anything I could do then I would do it.

-There is a cost-

The voice was speaking again, but this time it had returned to the vagueness reminiscent of our first meeting.

-The cost is you Michael. For me to save you, I must remove you-

Nonsense went hand in hand with the enigma that had haunted my short afterlife. Sometimes it spoke in what felt like riddles, pieces of conversation that I wouldn’t understand until it had already happened.

-Shall I relog the new user?-

It spoke to me as if I could answer, but I was already close to nothing. Even if I could respond, what should I say? What did it mean by new user, a user of what?

It was suspiciously ambiguous, and the same fear I felt from the voice on day 1 had returned to greet me now.

-Shall I relog the new user?-

It was stuck in a loop, asking the same tantalizing question I would never be able to answer. Outside in reality the earth had been shaken, and fear had struck the crowding masses charging me, or I guess what is now us.

I feel every spell cast through me, I’m just a mouthpiece for whatever possessed my vessel it would seem.

Even then, the tinge of each right left a savory stain in my mouth. They had layers of emotions packed with them, and the complexity within was suddenly engrossing me in not only their power, but their meaning as well.

Shall I relog the new user?

Again it repeated itself looking for permission. I was too invested in the moment, but it sounded like the voice was choking up. The voice cracks it let out were loudly popping in each pronunciation of its words.

-I trust you Michael. Wherever you go, your home will always be here-

It was a nostalgic love pouring from the voice. It sounded desolate, and forgotten like an old friend you’d meet in your home town; a forgotten memory that shaped you without you ever realizing.

-Wiping user data-

-Processing-

-Processing-

-Processing-

-I’ll let you go now Michael-

-Find your peace-

With a final goodbye to whoever Michael is, the voice had cleared its emotional tone. I guess that memory was wiped after all because the new tone sounded bliss and frivolous.

-New user logged-

-Welcome: Basra-

‘SAVE AREN! I’LL HANDLE THE KID!’

Sophie had bursted onto a terrible scene of destruction coupled with madness. Some of the soldiers, in their effort to understand all the chaos, had curled into balls muttering obscenities into their knees.

‘Of course miss!’

The group assigned to saving Aren was called to action. The company of agents had seen many atrocities in their time, and so the violence had left them relatively unaffected if not slightly uneased.

They believed in their leader Sophie, even to the point of forgetting the hellhole they were in.

Out from under their cloaks, thick leather pads which covered only the essentials were unveiled; they were light; sparse, so that the group of 10 could maintain movement.

The guards holding Aren were too focused on Basra to understand their predicament.

The 10 men navigated the battlefield with ease, and were confident in doing so as to not arouse suspicion with those they passed. Upon reaching the captors, the 10 all drew their blades and slit the necks of those they were to target.

It was a clean takedown, but the event had alerted the rest of the soldiers to the 90 some enemies just now arriving at their back side.

‘THEY’RE BEHIND US!’

At the fearful revelation, the soldiers split into two flanks. In that moment, Sophie saw him.

You’re the one!

Lord Saran was leaking a dangerous aura, an aura that could lead fate to this moment; her capture being the prime example of fate controlling her life.

If they were to break away from the path set by the gods, Lord Saran would need to die.

With Aren free, the possessed boy could be suppressed for a short time; for now, her attention was set towards the stoic Lord of Soramesh.

Drawing her own blade, still dipped in yellow goo from the uncleaned sheath at her waist, Sophie picked a fight she would soon regret.

Saran was not a normal man. His affinity was nothing special, but he himself had been a capable leader for decades.

The general of his army, and master in all things war, Lord Saran was on a level much higher than her own.

This bitch again?

Saran had felt the killing intent meant for him, and turned to face the devilish woman that would dare make an attempt on his life.

‘I’m impressed little lady. I didn’t expect you to escape, and to manage coming here with your friends, quite an achievement!’

The plot was much larger than Saran had thought. Running amok around the two, assassins fighting like wolves were striking his soldiers like predator and prey.

Not only were they well trained, but they were also well organized to be able to field so many professionals. This coven was no longer just a coven, they were an organization; one far darker than anything Saran has had to deal with before.

Again with every ting of iron sharpening iron, another soldier fell.

Odimus

The warlock had continued his chant.

Fool. That demon will slaughter you just as it will slaughter us you brainless cretin.

Though with Aren’s chanting, the boy Basra had seemed to pause.

‘HAHA, MISS! MISS, THE BOY’S POWER IS WANING!’

With that joyous update, Sophie closed the distance between her and Saran.

*CLACK*

Expecting a decisive hit on Saran’s shoulder, Sophie was given a slight shock when Saran had managed to defend with a shortsword that wasn’t drawn just moments ago.

Saran opened his stance, and held his blade low, close to his center and pointed at the enemy before him.

He decided to respond in kindness to her attempt, and sent a low sweep to her legs; barely, she managed to back away and lifted her empty hand.

‘ARGH!’

In Saran’s rush to send aid to Praguor, he had mistakenly left himself unarmored. In his bicep was a stumpy bolt from Sophie’s concealed crossbow, this would never have happened if he had his armor.

Shit, she got me…

Saran gritted his teeth, and tried to push the pain out of his mind. Correcting his stance, Saran lunged forward and unleashed a fury of slashes.

The swings were light but fast; Sophie had managed to parry the first few, but the last two had gashed her arm and blunted her thigh-plate hard enough to fracture the bone underneath.

Not giving her time to breathe, Saran continued his chase.

He lifted his blade, and gave himself openings. Looking for a chance, Sophie had attacked the minor errors in Saran’s technique.

For each thrust she made, she missed, hitting nothing but air.

Saran had a wonderful smile on his face watching her take the bait; an attack that misses is much more strenuous than one that hits.

Sophie’s breathing grew hot, and burned her lungs for each breath she took. Her energy was running dry, and her opponent wasn’t nearly finished yet.

‘HYAAH!’

Saran meant to pierce Sophie’s core now that her arms were shaky, and her body weak. Just as the tip was about to hit, a new woman had stepped in, her hair as black as the night sky.

She raised a thin cutlass to Saran, and sent a barrage of lunges. Saran intended to slide the thrusts off his blade, but the power behind them had surprised him; then, the blondie he had been fighting before opened her mouth.

Incesivit Sanguine

A reddish pink rose of logic defying flames arose from her core.

Bleeding harlot!

Saran was quick to use his black haired adversary as cover, but doing so had put him within dangerous proximity of her shiny cutlass. The two of them was too much, even for Saran, especially without his equipment.

So they’re leaving me with only one option…

Saran was a proud man, but he wasn’t stupid.

If it came down to this fight, or the fight concerning the fate of his kingdom, he would rather preserve himself for the future calamities far greater than these women.

‘This isn’t the end harlots. I will hunt you down, wherever you worms like to hide.’

‘Is that a promise?’

Lord Saran did what he thought was right; he turned from his adversaries, and ran past his men waging their own war.

What an unsightly man.

All eyes were now back to the boy Basra, who had eerily gone silent during the conflict. Sophie assumed it was Aren’s doing, but the aura emanating from the boy was a fantastical one far greater than Saran’s.

‘Ready yourself Aren. This beast hasn’t been tamed yet.’

‘So where do you want me… erm, One Eyed Willy?’

Warking Orcus was speaking to an Elf; a rare sight for the country they were in.

‘Are you naturally dickish, or did you have to train yourself to be annoying as hell?’

‘HAHA!’

The Elf was unamused by the boisterous Orcus.

His body, which may have been sturdy in a better time, was slanted and hunched. His skin was pale, much paler than the normal skin tone of an Elf, and his hair had been bedraggled and greasy.

The tips of his long ears are nipped, like what would be done to a dog.

Dark bags rested under his eyes, rather, eye; over his left eye was an eyepatch, covering an empty hole.

If Orcus could describe the Elf’s personage, he would be battered from time.

‘You’ll need to travel. Our group has been split, and entering the badlands can be a death wish for any man.’

But Orcus was not just any man, he was capable.

‘Yeah yeah yeah, as long as I get paid.’

‘Oh you will, we don’t wear these lavish clothes for nothing.’

The sarcasm had been striking, especially when coming from a withered Elf wearing rags.

‘Alright Zion, I’ll take your word for it then heh.’

Chapter 8 Part 1 End